


Behind a Title

by StardustAndAsh



Series: Of the Rabbit and the Fox [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Skyhold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 08:03:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5658814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StardustAndAsh/pseuds/StardustAndAsh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ëonwë Lavellan is back to deal with the fallout of his last adventure out in the Hissing Wastes and beyond, Dorian helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind a Title

A few weeks had past since Ëonwë had returned to Skyhold, a little worse for wear, but well on the mend and without a certain weight on his chest. The redness of his burns had faded into a deep tan on his usually paler skin. At first people stopped recognizing him around Skyhold and Ëonwë enjoyed a few days of anonymity as he wandered the keep as people got used to his different appearance.

As Ëonwë had promised to himself, he planted a tree in Skyhold’s garden for his sister. A maple, still a sapling but ready to grow into a strong tree that would face whatever weather Skyhold might endure. Leliana had acquired it for him without asking any questions, but then again she probably already knew everything about him and had known why he was asking. He sat on the fresh dirt next the tree, hidden behind a couple thick bushes towards the rear wall of the garden. The tree would eventually take over the whole space behind the bushes, but for now there was enough room to hide back there from the people who wanted to talk to him: namely those to whom he had told his story. Cassandra, Varric, the Iron Bull, and most especially Dorian.

He sighed, burying his head in his hands. Didn’t he have enough on his plate with everything going on with the Inquisition before being asked to talk about his _feelings_? This is why he tried to keep to himself before. At first it was so that he didn’t get attached to his companions with the mindset that he would go home to Clan Lavellan once this was all over. Now the clan was scattered and he wasn’t even sure if he would survive defeating Corypheus. Not that he’d let anyone know about that, especially his _arasha._ No way could Ëonwë tell Dorian, he didn’t want the other mage to look at him like he was going to die. Ëonwë would rather go remembering the gentleness in Dorian eyes, the way he would smile when Ëonwë learned new words with him in the library, the feeling when it was just the two of them in a tent at night in the wilderness of Thedas.

There was the sound of rustling bushes and a body coming to sit just beside his own. Ëonwë could tell exactly who it was before they ever opened their mouth.

“So, want to tell me why our resident friendly spirit is causing a fuss?”

“Did he walk through the courtyard with an armful of chickens again?”

“Armful of chickens?”

“It’s a long story and I’m not sure I understand it myself.”

“I wont ask then. However, Cole is worrying away about you, thinks your head is some kind of storm,” Dorian said carefully.

“I’ve just been thinking a bit,” Ëonwë deflected, head still buried in his hands.

Dorian sighed and settled into the spot beside Ëonwë. There was the familiar rustle of cloth that meant Dorian was deciding whether or not to touch him. It had been more frequent in recent weeks that Dorian had stopped reaching out to Ëonwë whenever he could, like the elf was made of spun sugar. At first Ëonwë thought it was because he had been so injured when they had finally returned from their ordeal in the Hissing Wastes, Ëonwë had been rather sore and sensitive for a week or two. But then it had continued and Ëonwë had noticed.

“Thinking about what? How much leaping about in the forest or whatever it is you’ll do with your clan when this is all over.”

The sarcasm stung, but then again the fate of Clan Lavellan was kept secret at his request among his advisors.

“I don’t think that will happen,” said Ëonwë, frowning at the emotion evident in his voice.

 “Why ever not?” Dorian again sounded cautious.

Ëonwë sighed. He didn’t want to do this, but he doubted Dorian would let him go now. The man was very stubborn when he wanted something, even if he was treating Ëonwë like glass he would persist in his questioning.

“They’re gone. The Duke of Wycome saw to that. He blamed them for a plague in the city and well, it didn’t end well for the clan.”

Ëonwë reached for the pendant around his neck, his last tie to the clan. Keeper Deshanna hadn’t written since her letter telling him of the fate of the clan. The hard edges of the wood dug into his hand beneath the fabric of his tunic.

“I am sorry,” said Dorian, and a gentle warm hand wrapped around Ëonwë’s thin shoulders.

Ëonwë leaned into the touch and lifted his head at last. He knew he must look a sorry mess, but he didn’t care anymore, hidden behind the bushes with only Dorian to see the Inquisitor having a moment. There was so much in Dorian’s eyes. There was sadness for him and comfort in them and Ëonwë was glad for the lack of pity.

“I was First, Keeper Deshanna was just starting to teach me what duties I would have as Keeper when I ran away to spy on the conclave. I know I shouldn’t have gone, but I wanted to know if the Templars would ever stop violating the rights of mages after being kept prisoner in the circle.”

“Nobody would fault you that, amatus. But were there no other mages born into your clan? Its hard for me to imagine that they’d start your training so late, especially when you’d been gone for so long,” said Dorian inquisitively.

Ëonwë thought over the question for a moment. Sure he began his duties as First a year later than normal, but that wasn’t so unheard of if a mage left a clan for a time. Every First and Second would theoretically began their training when they came of age, at 18. Ëonwë had started when he was 19, and it had been a little over a year since then, so not entirely unheard of, and definitely not so late as to question it.

“Dorian,” began Ëonwë, “How old do you think I am?”

“What?”

“How old do you think I am?”

“Now that you’re asking me I’m afraid that I’ve been thinking the wrong number.”

“You must be. For I was only a year late into my duties as First,” Ëonwë grinned.

“Alright amatus, how old are you?” Dorian crossed his arms as he waited for the answer.

“I’m twenty. My birthday was the day Corypheus attacked Haven. The day we met, now that I think of it. Would have been a good birthday if not for the fact I almost froze to death.”

Dorian almost fell over, his mouth open in shock. He spluttered at first, hands running through his hair and down his face. Several times he attempted to start speaking, but couldn’t find the words, making his moustache look like it was vibrating with excitement.

“Is there a problem with that?” Ëonwë teased.

“A problem? I am nearly fifteen years your senior and you ask if there is a problem? I am a cradle robber! How is someone so young leading the Inquisition. Do the advisors know? How has no one threatened to kill me yet.”

Dorian was tearing at his hair with such a comical expression on his face Ëonwë had to laugh. It started out as a giggle, but within seconds Ëonwë had worked himself up to a full belly laugh complete with tears. Dorian made noises of complaint but Ëonwë couldn’t get that ridiculous image out of his head. Dorian had looked like a spooked cat with wide eyes and hair every which way. But soon the moment was over and Ëonwë’s laughs petered out. He wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his tunic and looked back at Dorian with a grin that threatened more laughter. Dorian, for all the amusement Ëonwë had at his expense, appeared content.

“You know, I believe this is the first time I have heard you laugh in a month,” said Dorian in a ponderous tone.

“Not much to laugh about when the world is threatened by a crazed ancient magister,” replied Ëonwë.

“True, but I do like hearing your laugh.”

Ëonwë smiled at Dorian’s obvious flirting.

“I cannot believe they let a child-“

“I am not a child!” Ëonwë cut him off.

“-a wet behind the ears country elf lead the Inquisition.  Nobody can find out or we’d risk losing our credibility.”

“We never had much to begin with,” quipped Ëonwë.

“True enough. Now, what say you to dinner and a bottle of wine? I found a nice Rivani red that I am dying to try,” said Dorian, standing and brushing the dirt off his robes as best he could.

Ëonwë let himself be dragged upright by Dorian. Together they picked their way back across the garden and down into the kitchens to steal a tray of roast and vegetables before escaping to Ëonwë’s quarters to take their meal. Dorian had just cracked open the wine and was sipping at his glass when Ëonwë piped up again.

“And to be perfectly clear, I’m sure I heard Cassandra and Leliana plotting your demise if you ever broke my heart.”

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't like where Shadows Lingering Close Behind left off so I wrote this down. I'm debating writing a 'Fenris comes to Skyhold' story for Ëonwë's 'verse or starting on Wren Lavellan's story. What would you like to see first?


End file.
